


Interloper 2

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, Bestiality, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, Series, challenge, crossovers, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's see now . our Boys get together (yahoo!!), there's a hitman on the loose and a Sentinel named Alex comes to town. (And no, it's not who you think!)<g></p>
            </blockquote>





	Interloper 2

## Interloper 2

by MadByrd

Author's website:  <http://www.slashcity.org/~madbyrd>

Memo to Pet Fly, UPN, etc: Jim and Blair beg to differ regarding your claims of ownership.   
Memo to The Surfer Dude & 1013: Your Fox Mulder is a clone, the real one hangs out with me and he's so much happier now. As for Alex, well, *you* threw him away. Did you really expect nobody else would want him? No? Well, don't come crying to me about it. Trust me, he's much better off with someone who loves him for his own sweet self. <g>   


Thanks to everyone who wrote telling me how much they liked my first attempt in this fandom and demanding to know "what happens next". You're the greatest!   


Spoilers? What spoilers? Too AU now for that. And I really don't give a hang what anybody else says: it is *not* bestiality when you're married to a shapechanger. They may be furry at times, but they're still people too! 

This story is a sequel to: The Interloper 

* * *

Simon Banks had a headache. No, that wasn't quite right, he thought, grimacing as he swallowed yet another aspirin. This was the Granddaddy Satan of the clan, come to pay him back for all his sins, real and imagined. And it was all Sandburg's fault. 

Naomi Sandburg, that is. Blair's dippy hippy chick will o' the wisp mother. The woman had driven him absolutely nuts then tried to date Simon _and_ Jim up on her first visit -- as if she'd ever stood a chance of coming between the Sentinel and his Guide. Those two might not be together as a couple, though at least half the station thought otherwise and all of Major Crimes was busy taking bets on just when a certain piece of paperwork would cross the Captain's desk. But even a total idiot could see the writing on the wall where they were concerned -- not to mention the stars in their eyes when they thought nobody else (not even the other!) was looking. 

Then came the dissertation and all blazes broke loose. Thanks again to Naomi, who'd had the bright idea of sending the damn thing off to one of her countless ex-lovers who just happened to be a hotshot New York publisher. She hadn't even bothered to get Blair's permission first. And while the kid had taken precautions to edit anything that might give Jim's identity away -- for instance he'd used only the Sentinel's tribal name throughout -- it wasn't too long before the media were having a field day with too-close-for-comfort speculation regarding a certain Cascade Detective of the Year. And when one of the stirred-up crazies got his hands on a gun, well ... 

If anyone had ever doubted Blair Sandburg's courage or his loyalty to his best friend, the press conference he gave next day should have been more than enough to set them straight. Lord knows it had set Ellison straight, which was saying something after the lousy way he'd been acting. "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg is nothing more than a piece of science fiction," the young man publicly proclaimed. 

"I never intended it to be taken as the truth, because it isn't. There are no Sentinels." He looked into the camera, into Jim Ellison's very soul, or so it seemed to Simon Banks, and continued. 

"I am deeply sorry for having hurt my friends, especially Detective James Ellison, by my thoughtlessness. This is a book I would give anything never to have written and I can only hope that someday he'll be able to forgive me." 

Now if _that_ wasn't a declaration of love, Simon honestly didn't know what was. 

Blair ended up taking some heavy verbal flak from his new reputation as perpetrator of a literary hoax but the hullabaloo eventually died down. And even Rainier's prize asshole of a Dean came to the conclusion that there was no intent to commit fraud. True, young Sandburg should have used a writing style less likely to be mistaken as a serious academic work, but he had not submitted the manuscript as his thesis. Therefore no punitive measures (except the usual ones for not completing the diss on time) would be forthcoming. He still had a chance -- a _last_ one -- at getting his Doctorate next semester. 

Whether or not he would take it was anybody's guess. Personally Simon didn't think so; he'd bet all of his not insignificant poker winnings that Blair would end up going to the academy instead. And he wouldn't cut off a single one of those lovely long curls either ... because Jim Ellison would have a panther-sized fit if he did. 

Hell's bells, he was going to have one anyway when he learned the FBI were coming to town. 

They wanted to have a serious conversation with Ms. Naomi Sandburg --- whose name had recently turned up on a list of "known associates" of one Enrico Sanchez, sleazeball supreme. 

Simon hoped to God that it was all a mistake. Blair's mother might be flighty and a bit of a kook with very bad taste -- or luck! -- when it came to choosing men. But a criminal? He didn't think so. Then again, he really didn't know her all that well. However, if there was one thing he'd learned in this thankless job it was that every human being had the inclination (whether or not they ever acted upon it) towards felony. Yes, even the Naomi Sandburgs of the world. 

He debated for a moment the best way of giving his friends the bad news. A phone call wouldn't do... too cold and impersonal. And it couldn't wait until they came in after the weekend off he'd given them to recover from their last case. Christ! What a close call that had been, the two of them damn near roasting alive when the crashed pickup's gas tank had ignited and the vehicle went up in flames. Some guardian angel or ten must be working overtime just to keep their hides intact, that was fairly certain. 

How else to explain the minor cuts and scrapes they'd managed to walk away from the burning wreckage with? Or the incredible burst of strength that had enabled Ellison to rip the passenger door off hinges, freeing his trapped partner just in the nick of time? They said miracles didn't happen nowadays. Well, Simon Banks begged to differ ... and so would anyone else who hung around his best detective team long enough. 

No, calling them up or waiting till Monday to tell them this was definitely out of the question. Better to drive on over to the loft and do it in person, he decided. Get it over with quickly, with as little harm to his friends as possible. 

Then if he was lucky the damn killer migraine would take a hike for awhile -- a nice _long_ while, he hoped. 

Or at least until the next disaster rode merrily into town. 

* * *

Alex was a great spotted cat, leaping and bounding across the frozen steppes in this particular part of the spirit world. Where was the Beloved? Alex sniffed, hoping to catch scent of him. There! Behind that big snowbank to the left. "Trying to hide from me again, Pretty Baby?" the feline grumbled in mock annoyance. It was a game they played often, the huge snow leopard and the little arctic fox. Hunter and prey -- but which was which? It all came down to who pounced first, and on this lovely moonlit night, Alex was determined to be the one. Not that being the pounce- _ee_ in this relationship wasn't fun, mind you, but a little variety now and then never hurt. Besides which, who made the annoying little furball top dog anyhow? With an ass like his, sweet FoxyBabe was born to bottom. Didn't take an Einstein -- or a Sentinel -- to figure that one out. 

As Alex was thus pondering the Beloved's beautiful butt, "FoxyBabe" made his move. Whump! He landed on the leopard's shoulders with enough force to send them both rolling tail over whiskers like a pair of silly, windswept cubs. "Gotcha, Puss!" he crowed as they finally came to a halt ... thanks to a particularly deep snowdrift. His mate was _not_ amused. Time to remedy that. Hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, he brushed the leopard's flank with his long, thick tail. Nipped Alex -- none too gently! -- then saucily wiggled his pert little rump. 

Alex did what any sensible creature would do thus confronted: assume the most submissive position possible and purr your damnfool head off. And it worked like a charm, too. "You are _such_ a slut, my dear KittyKat," laughed Fox, cuddling up sweetly to his love. 

"And it's all your fault. Now shut up and fuck me before I explode," came the feline's oh-so-tender reply. 

"Keep your whiskers on, babe, I'm coming. You ready for me?" Silly question, Alex was _always_ ready for him, always wanted him. He began to push inside. Lords, how he loved his Sentinel! 

A bloodcurdling scream rent the frosty air. "Hmm, sounds like we're not the only ones looking to get our rocks off." Alex went suddenly rigid beneath him. "What'd I say?" Spotted ears twitched and a powerful jaw tightened as if seeking a throat to clamp down on. Fox swallowed, recognizing the signs. 

"That's no lovecall," the leopard growled. "Somebody's in danger!" 

* * *

If he lived another thousand years, Fox knew he would never forget the sight that greeted them. A huge black panther lay on the ground, his lifeblood slowly turning the new-fallen snow a brilliant crimson. Several feet away was a pretty silver wolf, obviously the panther's mate. He kept trying to reach the big cat but couldn't; chains about his legs held him fast. He was howling, great pitiful sobs of frustration and despair. Using what had to be the last of his strength, the panther ignored his own terrible agony to crawl the short distance to his mate. Tenderly licked the wolf's face, offering what comfort he could. 

Alex was outraged. What monstrous hand would violate such beauty, defile such devotion? The leopard swore by all the Gods: someone would pay dearly for this. But first ... 

"FoxLove, we have to get that spear out of his side or even your skills won't save him." 

The wolf turned to them, big blue eyes pleading for help. His love, his Sentinel must not die. _Please don't let him die!_ Fox shuddered, knowing full well what would happen if they lost the panther. This sweet young innocent would choose to go --- even as he himself would go if he ever lost Alex. 

Because the Guide's life _was_ the Sentinel's; one soul residing in two bodies as the Fates decreed since time immemorial. How could anyone _not_ know that? 

_"We won't,"_ Fox promised, wishing he was permitted to undo the past and spare them this misery. He felt drawn to them both, as he had been to no other creature save his Alex. And he instinctively knew his mate shared these feelings. Whatever happened now, their destinies were one. 

Fox gathered his energy. Alex, as ever, assumed Blessed Protector stance while he worked. The spear embedded in the panther's flesh began to move. 

"No!!!" came a sudden, if distant shout. The voice was shrill, female -- but whose it was he had no idea. 

Yet there was no mistaking its owner's malice or her absolute fury at being thwarted. He was interfering, placing himself between her Enemy and Death, and that she would not, could not permit. Fox mentally braced himself for the attack he knew was imminent. 

Alex roared, snarling angry defiance at the unknown challenger. Nobody threatened the Beloved in his presence and lived -- _nobody_! 

* * *

Agent Fox Mulder woke up in a Cascade motel room with an armful of trembling ex-assassin. Correction: an armful of trembling, _fur covered_ ex-assassin. Oh well, at least Krycek hadn't zoned this time. Mulder groaned. Honest to god, if he'd known being a Guide was this much trouble, he'd have told that old Navajo shaman to go take a flying leap. 

Alex's panicky grip on him tightened. Sweet Christ but those claws were sharp! Bad enough back in the old days when Krycek was only a dirty little rat. Now just as often as not he was two hundred-plus pounds of snow leopard. Even more Sentinel weirdness. Then again Alex hadn't been asking for it, any more than he'd asked those dead old motherfuckers that had made up the Consortium to turn him into a stone cold killer, but it had happened just the same. He'd turned those skills to his own advantage, playing the traitor so well that even his one and only love had believed him guilty of all sorts of evil. But the truth came out -- as Truth somehow always will -- and the whole conspiracy crumbled once the Sentinel of Earth was united with his Guide as tribal lore foretold. 

With the truth came redemption. No longer an outcast but a hero of the Resistance, Alexei Ivanovitch Krycek had been reinstated as Mulder's partner when Dana Scully left the Bureau to marry Agent Doggett and raise her clone babies: Sarah, Melissa and Jane. That left only Samantha to be found, and with Alex's help she was. Unfortunately it was in a mass grave containing hundreds of other victims of Nazi death camp type experiments, most of whom had been children. The X-files were officially closed. Skinner, believe it or not, was a civilian these days -- though he kept his hand in as chief investigator of The Lone Gunman Detective Agency, a fact that annoyed Kersh and his toadies no end. 

When the dust settled and the Rebel Aliens had gone home (promising to send official ambassadors from their various home worlds "in due time") the Director's new darlings could have taken their pick of assignments. But as Fox told his lover, being an FBI agent wasn't some sort of career status symbol. It was who he was. Well, that and being Alex's Guide. And because Sentinels exist to safeguard their tribe and Alex figured the Violent Crimes Unit was as good place as any for that, it only made good sense that Agent Mulder take up his pre-Spooky days posting. 

Which was how they'd ended up traveling clear across the country on their latest case. They had to question this Naomi Sandburg woman regarding her involvement with Enrico Sanchez, dealer in death and revolutionary mayhem. 

And if -- no, _when_ they found her he'd also ask what she knew about Ricky's sudden interest in a certain former Consortium hitman. Whatever was going on, whatever Alex wasn't telling him, he knew he was not going to like. 

But he'd worry about that later. Right now his Sentinel was in urgent need of some loving reassurance. 

* * *

Blair pushed his pancakes around on his plate. These past two days he'd had very little appetite. Not surprising, Jim thought, given the circumstances. He didn't feel much like eating himself -- the food tasted like paper. No, paper actually had a taste. This stuff didn't. He reached for his mug, hoping the strong black coffee would wash some of the grit away. Made a face when it didn't. "Blair? I think it's time we talked about this." 

"What's there to talk about?" the young man muttered so low that even Sentinel ears had to listen closely. "My ... Naomi had a few too many and tried feeling me up. End of story." 

Jim sighed. This time his little obfuscator was pulling the wool over his own eyes. Or trying to. Not a good idea. "You know there was more to it than that, Chief. I saw her, _smelled_ her, for chrissakes. She was all over you --- and she was as sober as old Judge Emberly at the time." 

Blair dropped his fork. He did _not_ want to talk about it. Talking made it real. If he didn't talk about it he could pretend it didn't happen, she didn't hurt him, didn't betray him. Everything'd be all right in a little while and he and Jim could ... _he and Jim could_ ... 

Ruthlessly he quelled that thought. Jim might care for him, might even love him just a bit, but he would never want Blair now. He was used, dirty. A whore. He buried his face in his hands but he didn't cry. He'd already done enough of that and what good did it do him? Didn't wash away _her_ , that's for goddamn sure. 

Suddenly a pair of strong arms were around him and he was crushed against a hard masculine body. "I'm sorry, god I'm so sorry, baby," Jim whispered as he pressed soft kisses in Blair's lustrous, thick curls. "I failed you again, Chief. Can you ever forgive me?" 

Blair was stunned. Jim had the most god-awful habit of guilt tripping he'd ever seen but this one topped them all. "You didn't fail me," he protested. "I wasn't ... raped." 

There, he'd said it. His own mother, the one person on the face of the earth other than Jim that he'd trusted, loved wholeheartedly ... and she'd wanted to do _that_ to him. Just like Lash and Kincaid and all those other sickies he'd run into over the last few years. 

"No, you just got abused. And I let it happen because I was so stupid and afraid. If I'd had the courage to tell you the truth sooner you'd have been in my bed where you belong. Where I could keep you safe. If the panther hadn't warned me ..." 

"Ebony? He told you that I was in danger? From Naomi?" 

"Not specifically from her, no. But he was more upset than I'd ever seen him before -- even that day at the fountain." Jim shuddered, recalling. "I know better now than to ignore a spirit guide -- especially a pissed off one -- and since when did you name him anyway, Darwin?" 

"Since the fountain," Blair confessed. "After you two brought me back, he started cuddling up to me every night." 

"Really?" _Sheesh, Ellison, you're pitiful. Jealous of your own animal spirit._ Jim silently berated himself, hoping Blair wouldn't notice what a prize jerk his Sentinel really was. 

"Uh-huh. He likes me, you know. AndsometimesI'ddreamheturnedintoyouandyou'dlickmeandkissmealloverandthenwe'dmakeloveandI'dcomesohardI'dpassoutyouweresogood." 

Blairbabble. Even Jim needed a translation. "Say that again, Chief. In plain English if it's not too much trouble. Or even plain Chopek," he teased. 

"I said," and his little guppy blushed like a schoolgirl! "sometimes I'd dream the panther was really you and then you'd lick me and kiss me all over and when we'd make love I'd come so hard I'd pass out you were so good." 

Jim smiled. "Better than all those other table legs, huh?" _Big_ mistake. Blair, who'd been snuggling blissfully against his chest, pulled sharply away. 

"Only all the ones in your big imagination," he snapped. Jim looked away, hurt. He softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...you couldn't know ..." Damn that lump in his throat anyway! "Nobody's ever been with me that way before. Those women? I dated them but that was all. And I wouldn't even have done that if I'd thought I had the slightest chance with you, but I was so sure I didn't then so that's why I never said anything." 

"And now?" _Say it, please, Chief._ Jim's blue eyes were moist and begging. _Say it and set us both free._

"I love you, Jim. I love you so much it hurts, man. But it's okay if you don't want me. I'm kinda used to not being wanted." 

For a moment Jim didn't quite trust himself to speak, his heart was aching so badly for his beautiful Guide. He took Blair's hand gently in his. "No. No, Blair, it's not okay. I love you too. So much it kills me to think of anyone hurting you, of how close I came to not ever having you. I know ... I know I'm not much, love, but if you're sure about this, about us, then you'd better know I _do_ want you. Forever. No, even longer than that," he added, lowering his mouth hungrily to Blair's. 

Blair opened sweetly for him and their tongues danced to the ancient rhythm of love and desire. Oh, this was bliss! Too long had they been starved for the taste of each other, now they feasted, pausing only for what oxygen that was absolutely necessary. Soon they were both flushed and straining with arousal, hard cocks threatening to burst right out of their jeans. Jim groaned as his soon-to-be lover started thrusting against him, seeking relief. With a control he never would have thought possible, he pushed the younger man gently but firmly away. Blair whimpered at the sudden loss of contact. 

"No, baby. This is your first time, remember? You deserve better than to come in your pants like a horny teenager after a few quick rubs on the couch." 

"Right now _one_ quick rub is all it'd take," Blair grumbled. Begged. "Please, love?" He pressed Jim's hand to his hugely swollen groin. "I'm really, _really_ hurting here, you know." 

Jim knew. His own erection was throbbing painfully now and part of him wanted to just bury it to the hilt in that hot little virgin ass and come ... but another part said no, there was a proper time and place for the claiming of his lifemate and this was not it. A partial deflowering, then, to ease his sweet Guide's urgent need. His own would just have to wait. 

Carefully, so as not to pinch delicate flesh, he unzipped Blair's jeans to free his aching cock. Beautiful! He stroked lightly along its length then down to fondle the velvet-covered balls. As instinct and memory told him to he licked them, nibbling and sucking first one, then the other, drawing the most delicious cries of passion from his quivering little love before finally deep-throating him. 

Blair arched his back and howled. Jesus, Buddha and Moses, he was close! Hot, wet tightness gripped him, worked him, then let him go only to start all over again. His hips pistoned, thrusting up into that paradise, the haven of Jim's mouth -- a hundred, no a _thousand_ times better than his fantasies -- and then he was coming, pouring his essence down his lover's fiercely demanding throat, filling the purring Sentinel's belly with what felt like gallons of his hot, thick cream. Afterwards, when the tremors of his orgasm had passed, he had only the faintest recollection of Jim using a damp washcloth to clean him up before tucking him back into his clothing. Then he was out like a light, feeling not only sated but cherished and safe in the arms of his Blessed Protector. 

Said Blessed Protector placed soft little kisses upon his sleeping angel's brow. He felt good, to tell the truth, much better than he had in a very long while. Never mind the insignificant little fact that _he'd_ been the one to come in his pants on the couch -- just like a horny teenager! 

**LATER:**

Blair came awake first. Gods, that dream he'd been having -- waitaminnit, that was no dream. The proof of it was still wrapped around him on this too-small-for-that-kinda-thing-but-who-the-hell-gives-a-hang-when-you're-head-over-heels-in-love couch. James Ellison, Watchman of The Great City, _his_ Sentinel, really _did_ want him that way ... despite what had happened to him the night before last. And that kiss! Many a pretty girl had complimented Blair Sandburg on his technique -- it was fun, after all, even if he'd never taken it much further -- but what Jim had done to him was mindboggling. Never in his life had he gotten so totally turned on. And never so fast either. Just thinking about it was enough to bring on twinges of interest from below his belt again. Sheesh, he was nearly thirty, not thirteen and in the throes of puberty. But try telling that to his dick -- especially after just having had his brain sucked right out through it. 

He was still amazed Jim had gone down on him like that. Sure, he'd heard all the rumors going around about his partner's bad old days in Vice, but he hadn't believed any of them. After all, in the three years he'd known him, Jim's dates without exception were of the female persuasion. Beauties to be sure -- but they were one and all either criminals hoping to use a cop's distraction/infatuation with them to their own advantage or floozies looking to score some cheap thrills, never mind who got burned along the way. And not a single one of them ever gave thought to who -- if anyone -- would care enough to try gluing the prickly shards back together when all Jim's dream castles came crumbling down. So much misery they could both have avoided if just once he'd had a clue Jim Ellison swung both ways, like he'd known he did ever since that first big crush on Michael Summers way back in junior high. 

Well, he knew now and believe you me, man, he was going to make up for all those long, lonely nights they'd spent being so close to each other yet at the same time almost unbearably too far apart. No more of _that_ nonsense; it may have taken a sexual assault by his own obviously demented mother to do it, but he and Jim now shared that big upstairs bed. And soon -- very soon, if what had gone on right here was any indication -- they'd be doing a hell of a lot more than just sleeping together in it. They'd be fucking each other right through the mattress. And even if he only knew what he'd learned from books and the Internet and a couple of bi/gay friends about _that_ part of loving his man, he could hardly wait to get started. 

"Hmmm," a sleepy voice murmured next to his right ear and the hand that wasn't twined in Blair's rich mahogany curls reached down to casually pet him through his tight denim jeans. "Looks like _someone_ had a good time." 

Blair was tongue-tied -- but only for an instant. 

"It was awesome, babe," he said, lifting his face to Jim's in the hopes of receiving a kiss. He was not disappointed, though he had to admit tasting himself on another's breath was weird. Not gross or yucky, just strange. Another new experience for him to get used to. "I just wish I could have done more for you, know what I mean?" 

Jim's eyes glowed pure satisfaction with the knowledge that despite his rapid advance towards forty and old farthood, Blair took pleasure in his touch. He placed another tender kiss on those soft, love-swollen lips. "You were perfect, sweetheart," he assured. 

"But you didn't ..." Blair broke off, suddenly noticing the jeans his lover was wearing were not the same pair he'd had on at breakfast. His big blue eyes got even bigger and his cheeks flamed red. "Oh," was all he was able to say. Jim grinned. "Yep, that about covers it, Chief." He added, and meant it, "I haven't come like that in years, just doing it to somebody else." 

A brief flare of jealousy as Blair wondered who that someone else had been. Carolyn? He didn't think so, Jim's ex-wife didn't exactly strike him as the mad passionate sort. Incacha, maybe? After all, he _had_ been the Sentinel's guide, albeit briefly. 

"No, baby," Funny how Jim seemed to be reading his mind lately. "Incacha was my teacher, my only friend in a time and place where life was a steady battle just to survive. You are my Guide and my light, the one vital part of me I never even knew was missing until the day you bounced into my world and shoved me under that garbage truck." 

Blair stilled Jim's roving hand, brought it to his lips, then placed it over his heart. "Aww man, and here you keep saying you're no good with words." 

"I guess, when it comes to you, I'm learning them, sweetheart." He looked sheepish as he added. "Still, it took three years and one hell of a wakeup call before I got up the nerve to try." 

"I'm glad you did, although," Blair shuddered against his chest, "I could have done very nicely without that last part of it." 

On the outside Jim was calm -- the last thing he wanted was to frighten Blair -- but inside he was shaking with rage. If that ... that _creature_ ever dared to darken their door again, he vowed to leave nothing but microscopic shreds of her before she touched his mate. He could still scarcely believe she'd gotten past him and molested Blair that way. The high speed chase that had ended so disastrously earlier in the day must have taken more out of him than he'd thought. Thank God for spirit panthers who wouldn't take no for an answer when exhausted Sentinels wanted only to get some sleep. 

Vibrations against his body. Blair was talking to him. "Sorry, angel. Guess my mind was wandering that time. You were saying?" 

"I was asking if we were going to tell anyone about us or if you wanted to keep it quiet. I know how tough life can be when you're different. How nasty some of those narrow little minds out there can get whenever they see something they don't understand." 

"Chief, those narrow little minds, as you call 'em, can all go jump in the lake if they don't like us being together. I love you with everything that I am. And I know it's the same way with you. Didn't I say I wanted you forever?" Blair nodded. "Well, I'll be damned if I'm going to waste even one precious second with you on worrying about what some other people -- who ought to have better sense anyway -- might be thinking. What's more, I will not have the man I intend on asking to marry me feel forced to act as if our love is something he ought to be ashamed of." 

"M-marry me?" Blair squeaked. 

Jim couldn't resist, kissed the tip of his cute little nose. "Uh-huh. No shackups and no dirty little secrets for either one of us. The minute that bill in the senate passes you and I are going to find ourselves a preacher to do the honors." Sudden cold clenched at his gut. Up went the infamous Ellison walls. "Unless maybe you don't want to." 

Blair was having none of that, not this time. "I want to. More than anything else in this world, I want to marry you, James Joseph Ellison. And I swear I will never be ashamed of you or of our love." His fingers caressed Jim's smooth, sculptured cheek. "I'm just amazed that you -- hell, that anybody -- would want the likes of me around for keeps. Even ... even Naomi couldn't put up with me that long." He spoke casually as if to make light of that last bit, but Jim wasn't buying. He could see the tension in the other man, the brief flash of pain -- old pain -- that his sweet brave angel was trying to hide. _Can't do it, love. Not from me, not from your Blessed Protector. Fucking bitch! You've got a lot to answer for._

Aloud he said, "Thank you. Thank you, my heart. And I promise, Blair Jacob Sandburg: you will never have reason to doubt that I love you, that I want you now and always in my life." 

Neither man saw, but later both would remember the scream of a great black panther, followed by an alpha male wolf's triumphant howl. The spirits approval of their union. 

That heartfelt exchange led to more kissing and cuddling and the like. Soon they were both happily mussed -- though without any more embarrassing little accidents, thank goodness! Blair used the old grooming as a defense mechanism trick to cover his nervousness. Jim saw right through him as usual and was about to say it when his partner spoke up suddenly. "I know what you're going to tell me, Jim. Report it. See a counselor. Get help to deal with the trauma of a sexual assault ... even though it was rather at the low end of the scale." 

"That _is_ generally how it goes," Jim admitted. He saw very well where this was headed and he didn't like it one little bit. "A crime was committed, we both have knowledge of it." He held up a hand to halt the angry words he could see Blair struggling to hold in. "The authorities have to be involved in this, whether we want them or not." 

"Not. Definitely _not_ ," his lover grumbled. Jim tried to reason with him. "Blair, she attacked you once already. In your own bed while you were asleep, for crying out loud. What makes you think she won't do it again?" 

A very firm shake of a curly brown head. "She won't, man. When she comes to her senses she'll head for the nearest ashram or whatever to process. And if she can't, she'll run to a shrink." A harsh little laugh made Jim's teeth ache. "We Sandburgs are like, really into therapy. Either way it'll be a long, _long_ time before we see her again. Which, and I never in my wildest dreams imagined myself saying this, is just fine with me." 

Ouch. That went deep. Blair was the most forgiving person he'd ever met and did his damndest to spread the philosophy, especially were family was concerned. But how do you forgive a betrayal on this scale? The bond of trust between parent and child was a sacred thing, at least in Jim Ellison's book. His own were no big prizewinners: a cold moneygrubber of a father who made him feel like some kind of freak and an easily bullied mother who'd abandoned her two small sons when the going got tough. But what Naomi had done to Blair surpassed his understanding. Among the Chopek, Jim's adopted people, such a woman would be staked out in the jungle for the wild beasts to devour. And if one dared affront the gods by laying lustful hands upon a bonded Guide .... He shivered, his mind refusing to even contemplate her fate. In all of tribal history -- which was pretty accurate for a so called backward people -- there was no memory of such a horrendous act ever having once been committed. But they did have a punishment for it, so he supposed it must have happened in a neighboring or rival tribe. And from what Incacha had told him, had the rape actually taken place and the Guide driven to madness and death by such brutal violation, then whatever that ancient punishment was, it would only be just. 

As would the ritual suicide of the Sentinel who had failed to prevent the outrage. But Blair would never know that. 

"Jim? Come on back to me." Blair's Guide voice now. He smiled, amused. "I was thinking not zoning, Chief." 

"Oh yeah? Well with you it's hard to tell," Nice to see the Sandburg wit making a comeback. "What about?" 

"Oh, this and that." Blair wasn't the only one who could obfuscate, when necessary Jim had been known to tell a few dillies himself. "Mostly how Simon's going to react when I ask him to be our best man." 

"I was thinking more like father of the groom -- no _way_ am I gonna be a bride even if I still qualify to wear white." Blair shot back. "We can ask Joel to be the best man. Or Rafe." 

"What about Megan? She'd make a terrific ..." 

"If you say bridesmaid I swear I'm gonna clobber you, fianc or not." 

"I was thinking maid of honor." 

"Okay. That's cool. We can do the maid of honor thing. No bachelor parties though -- you are _not_ getting within a hundred miles of another loose woman if I can help it." 

Jim feigned disappointment. He was enjoying this; it was almost like before all that shit with Rainier and the damn diss and -- he ground his teeth -- Naomi. He pouted. "But baby, it's _tradition_." 

"So's wearing a bone through your nose in some places. No strippers." 

"No strippers," Jim agreed. He added mock sternly, "That goes for your bridal shower too, honey." 

Blair rolled over and grabbed his favorite weapon: a big old overstuffed cushion. Just right for Jim bashing. "You're gonna be sorr-eee!" he sang back, taunting. 

The Sentinel cocked an ear. Saved! "Hold that thought, Cupcake. Simon's in the stairway." 

* * *

**UNIT 42, CASCADE ARMS MOTEL**

It was a plain brown envelope with no postmark and no return address. The sort you could buy anywhere. On the back of it was printed a name: A. Arntzen, in broad strokes of a black felt tip marker. Also the sort you could buy anywhere -- although Alex's nose told him it was one of the odorless "xylene free" ones. Ha! The ink still stank to high heaven. He dialed his sense of smell down to just above zero and boosted his vision. No fingerprints. Not that he'd expected to find any; the people who sent "A. Arntzen" this kind of correspondence were hardly likely to be that careless. Not if they wanted to stay out of jail or, more likely, the morgue. 

He turned it over carefully. Too light to contain explosives: even though he hadn't smelled any it didn't hurt to double check. The Consortium might be gone but there were still plenty of assholes left who had it in for him, not counting the enemies he'd made since his dramatic return to the FBI fold. Sentinels, wherever they went, tended to make life miserable for the criminal element and Alex Krycek excelled at that. Not that any of the slime knew he was one -- other than Fox and the Navajo and Walter Skinner nobody did. Unless you wanted to end up a lab rat in somebody's "skunkworks" facility -- and there were plenty still left, not all were run by the Smoker's people -- it wasn't the sort of thing you talked about. And you certainly didn't want to see it on the six o'clock news, not if you wanted to do your job without finding yourself hip deep in reporters, rubbernecking civilians and just plain kooks all the time. Hell, look at all the fuss they made over that college kid, Blair whatsisname, when he wrote that book five or six months ago. The one about Sentinels that everybody thought was real but was only science fiction, or so he'd said in that TV press conference. Alex still wondered about that. He'd seen tapes of the interview after and while he couldn't quite put his finger on it, something was definitely odd about the guy. He'd looked, and the more Krycek thought about it the more certain he was, as if he were hiding something. No, protecting some _body_. Another Sentinel -- but if that was the case then why write a book? Why publish if you knew it was going to be pulled off the market and labeled a hoax? It just didn't make sense. He'd have to ask Walter and the Gunmen if they could track down a copy for him when he got back to DC -- surely they hadn't all been pulped. 

Back to the matter at hand. Or rather _in_ hand. The envelope. He ripped it open and dumped the contents out on the bed. A standard Polaroid snapshot of two men. The face of one had a red circle drawn around it, that would be the target. The man that "Arntzen's" anonymous employer wanted him to kill. He studied it carefully, committing it to memory as he had countless other targets in his alter-ego's bloody career. Difference was back then it was war and they'd all been legitimate ones, even if the authorities disagreed and branded him a renegade. Assassin-for-hire he might have been but he'd only killed scum for other scum, letting them think he was one of them until it was time to shake their damn house down. Never, no matter how many unsavory things he'd done as a triple-agent, had he taken the life of an innocent, regardless of how much money "Alex Arntzen" was offered. And the offers were always high, six figures and up, because Alex -- Krycek -- was the best. 

Mulder, his hair still dripping and with a towel knotted around his waist, came out of the bathroom. "Thought you were gonna join me in the shower, lover." He pouted, doing that thing with his lower lip that always made Alex hot. "How else am I supposed to get my back clean?" 

A remark like that generally led to kissing, which in turn led to pouncing, which meant having his cock sucked dry at least a couple of times before hammering Krycek's lovely firm ass through the bedsprings until one or both of them passed out. But not this time. This time Alex didn't even look up or otherwise acknowledge Mulder's presence. 

Fox leaned over his mate's shoulder. Saw the picture he was so wrapped up in. "Hey, who's the hot couple?" 

"Huh?" said Alex and Fox shook his head. Guide Rule #6: never expect your Sentinel to comprehend basic English before he's had his required daily level of caffeine. Heck, maybe he ought to try Russian. 

"The cute little hairball and the big buff stud he's hanging onto," Mulder pointed at the photo. "That's who." 

"I don't ..." Alex was going to say he hadn't the faintest who they were when all of a sudden it hit him that he _had_ seen them before. Twice, as a matter of fact. Once on TV and again last night in the spirit world. Only then that "cute little hairball" had been a wolf. And the other a beautiful black panther. A beautiful, _dying_ black panther. He trailed a finger lightly over the image, as if to caress their faces. 

"You tell me," he whispered. "You tell me, my Shaman." 

A shiver ran up Mulder's spine. He'd had the gift, according to Albert Hosteen and the tribal Elders, but this was the first time Alex had referred to him as such. And the reverence he gave the title was unnerving, to say the least. He started to protest that he didn't deserve it, hadn't earned it, when the vision hit. 

_A panther, sleek ebony beauty running through the jungle. Beside him a wolf. Mate. Beloved. Joy ... joy ... joy their hearts sang to each other as they raced. The arrow -- no, a spear -- coming out of the darkness to pierce the great cat's side. Blood, pain, fear. A woman's harsh laughter as the panther fell. Bitterness, envy in her voice. Die, pig! she spat at him. Freak! Interloper! Cruel, hateful and undeserved names. Lusts of the flesh and of the spirit tainted her beauty. A soul poisoned with madness._

_The silver wolf, fangs bared as he turned to face her, to defend his chosen one. Chains pulling him down, keeping him from his wounded love. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Not of the woman, nor for himself. For the panther. For his precious Sentinel's life. Despair. Pain. Heartrending sorrow in a pair of summer sky eyes. Eyes no trueborn wolf possessed. Eyes that saw the wind, that flayed men's souls then made them whole again. The eyes of a Guide they were, filled with ageless, timeless wisdom. The eyes of a Shaman, one with all the marks of power upon him._

_His name ... his name was Brings the Flame. And his mate was Enquiri, Sentinel of the Great City._

Mulder's knees buckled at the sudden psychic onslaught. Damn, he thought he'd be used to this by now. Guess not. Krycek held onto him, eased him safely back down on their bed. "Another bad one, lisa?" he asked, massaging his Guide's temples. A big downside to this ability was the occurrence of tension headaches which only Alex, through touch, could relieve. 

"Uh huh," Fox nodded. "I think ... no, don't stop, that feels _sooo_ good ... maybe you and I should try finding this Enquiri character before it's too late." 

"Be nice if we had more to go on. Like maybe a last name or a street address or even a telephone number." 

Mulder gave him the evil eye. "I know, it doesn't work that way. Still can't help wishing it did. And what the hell kinda name is Enquiri?" 

"Chopek, if I'm not mistaken. Oh and Alexlove, we already know the most important thing about him: he's a Sentinel and somebody wants him dead." 

Krycek's body language was pure feline. Tomcat ready to do battle for his territory ... and make no mistake about it, this other Sentinel/Guide pair _was_ his territory. They just didn't know it yet. "Oh yeah? We'll just _see_ about that!" 

* * *

**852 PROSPECT, APT. #305**

"Damnit, Ellison, why can't you open a door just like everyone else -- _after_ somebody knocks on it?" Jim shrugged as if to say "Why mess with perfection?" and let his boss into the loft. 

Simon took in the slightly rumpled appearance of his best detective, the flushed and almost guilty look on his favorite observer's face and came to the correct conclusion there was Something Going On. He held back a snort -- about damn time they got their act together. Looked like he'd be the one collecting on that bet after all, never mind how Rafe and Brown were bragging. "Gentlemen. Am I too early to offer congratulations?" 

"Uh-no, sir. Thank you," Ellison stammered. "As a matter of fact you're the first." Added sharply. "I hope it's not going to be a problem." 

Simon glared. Reached in his breast pocket for a cigar but remembered their "no tobacco on the premises" rule just in time. "Don't be ridiculous. This is the 21st century, not the 12th. We're all mature adults around here." Then he noticed Blair's deathgrip on a certain large cushion -- one he'd witnessed in action several weeks ago when he'd been invited over to watch the Jags play an away game against Boston (they'd lost, badly, and so did he) and remarked. "At least _some_ of us are." 

Sandburg's mouth started to form words but very strangely none came out. Had to be embarrassment, Simon figured, though he was at a bit of a loss as to why. _Jeeze, you wouldn't know but I walked in on them stark naked and doing it. Relax, kid, that's the least of your worries._ Then: _oh shit, it really will be the least of your worries when I tell you Naomi's come under investigation by the Feds because of some asshole she slept with a few times years ago. Christ on a crutch, but I hate this job!_

"Don't mind me, Sandburg," he rumbled by way of an apology. Sliding right into it. "Haven't been getting much sleep, what with the damn Feebees pestering me all week. 

Jim took the bait -- no doubt those crazy senses of his were telling him something was up with his captain and friend. "The Sanchez case?" 

"Sanchez?" Blair put in. "That the same guy we thought to tie into Kincaid's group but kept getting nowhere with?" 

Banks nodded. "The one and only." Blair shut his eyes against the memory. He still had nightmares about falling from that helicopter. "Oh man, that guy's a whole shitload of bad karma just waiting to happen." 

"Yeah and it gets worse. Seems these two agents, Mulder and Krycek, have a new lead and they'll be in town the next few days checking it out." 

"Ha! Good luck to 'em," Jim snorted. "Ricky Sanchez might be a slimy little turd but he's a smart one. No evidence, no witnesses, that's how come he's stayed in the business for so long. Hell, even _I_ never came up with anything solid on him. Nothing we could take to the D.A.'s office, anyway." 

"Yeah. Well..." Simon Banks looked decidedly uncomfortable. A quick scan told Jim the captain's pulse and blood pressure were both skyrocketing. Not a good sign. "Spit it out, Simon, before you bust an artery or something." 

"Yeah man. All that stress is like, _way_ uncool. Not to mention about as good for your health as a steady diet of Wonderburgers." Neo-hippy witch doctor Sandburg advised. 

_Oh hell, there really is no easy way to say this. Better just do like Jim says and spit it out. And hope we're all still gonna be on speaking terms after._

Aloud Banks said, "They think they have someone who might be willing to talk, if -- and it's a pretty big if in my books -- she knows anything. An old girlfriend of Sanchez's." He braced himself for the inevitable mess when the manure hit the oscillating device. "Jim, Blair, they want to talk to Naomi. Have either of you heard from her lately?" 

Surprisingly, there was none of the expected fiery indignation from Blair on his mother's behalf. Instead he sank deeper into the cushions, wearing a lost, hurt little boy look. As for Jim, the Sentinel's face was a study in tightly controlled fury. Simon took a hasty backstep. Only a fool would get in the way when Mount St. Ellison was about to erupt. A fool with a death wish -- and Mrs. Banks sure hadn't raised any of those. 

"Look guys, I told them it had to be a mistake, Naomi isn't the sort of person who'd get involved with ..." 

"You don't know jack _shit_ about N-Naomi," Blair yelled at him. "You don't _know_." He burst into tears. In the space of a heartbeat, Jim was holding the young man close and crooning softly to him. "It's all right, Chief. You're safe now. Safe, baby, I promise." 

Blair cuddled into him, instinctively seeking the comfort of his Blessed Protector's loving embrace. When the sobs died down to the occasional sniffle he hiccupped and said in a small, plaintive voice, "I-I'm sorry. Didn't mean to go all girly on you like that." Jim shushed him, stroking his hair. "'s all right, love. You're entitled, I think, considering ..." He broke off, remembering they hadn't really agreed on what -- if anything -- they were going to tell Simon about Naomi's little late night visit. 

"Considering what?" Gruff police captain Simon Banks was hopelessly out of his depth. Welcome to the Sandburg zone. "Ellison, what the hell's the matter with your partner?" 

Jim bristled. "I don't think that's any--" Blair tugged at his sleeve. "Easy, big guy, Simon's our friend, remember?" 

"I should hope so." Simon stared the glowering detective down. "And as your friend I'm asking, not ordering, you to tell me." _Because whatever it is it's tearing you both apart._

"I --" Jim's eyes sought Blair's, asking permission. The young man hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Simon, I think you'd better sit down." 

"If it's _that_ bad ..." 

"It is." Cool blue eyes turned to flint. "Two nights ago the panther woke me up, warning me Blair was in danger. I ran downstairs to his room -- his old room -- and caught Naomi with her clothes off molesting him." 

Simon's jaw hit the floor. Whatever he'd thought to hear, it sure as heck wasn't this. Not in a million years. 

"Molesting?" Damn, was that a squeak? "Naomi?" 

"Naomi." Jim spat the name out as if it were a curse. A particularly ugly curse at that. "I stopped her just this far short of raping him, Simon." 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You didn't ..." The big man shuddered, dreading the answer to the next question but having to ask it all the same. "Tell me you didn't kill her." 

"I wanted to," Jim admitted. "I probably -- no, I would have, if she'd hurt him like that." Blair stiffened in his arms. "I'm sorry, love, but it's the truth. I know she's your mother and you still care about her, want her to get help and all, but I swear to God, she will _not_ get away with touching you again." 

"That's what scares me," Blair confessed. "She -- she'll do something really desperate -- she wants me to love her back and I do but not like that, it's sick. She's sick and I can't trust her any more because -- because I think she's gone crazy or something, did you know she took LSD back in the '70s? That crap like, fries your brain, gives you all kinds of weird flashbacks even years after you do it -- and -- and she'll come back, come after me and you'll have to h-hurt her or worse and then they'll take you away from me and I'll be all alone again and I can't stand being alone, I've had too much of it and I don't want any more." He clung to his lover now as if fearful of being forcibly separated from him. "Promise me, Jim. Promise you won't ever leave me, you won't throw me away like -- like everyone else. You won't throw _us_ away." 

Jim was stunned. How could Blair possibly think ... _Fool! How could he not think it? Didn't you push him away once already? You told him you wanted someone you could trust and that someone wasn't him. Remember what happened then? You lost him before because of your stubbornness, how many more times does he have to sacrifice himself on your worthless behalf? Coward! You say you love him, well isn't it high time you returned the favor?_

"I promise." Jim cast off his fears, his foolish male ego, and let all of his love and devotion shine through. It was a spectacularly liberating moment. "Never will I leave you of my own free will, love. Throw you away? That'd be cutting out my own heart and soul, how could anyone live like that? Nothing and no one on the face of this earth will ever make me even want to try." 

Blair sighed, went practically limp in his arms with relief. He knew Jim cared about him, but he couldn't help wonder sometimes if caring alone was enough. If emotions were enough. So many others had said "I love you" to him when what they really meant was "I want your beautiful body, babe, let's you 'n' me have us some fun". And when they didn't get what they wanted from him (because what he'd been waiting to hear was "I love you and I want you forever, will you come build a new world with me?") whose heart got broken? Blair Jacob Sandburg's, that's who. James Ellison, on the other hand, safeguarded his feelings behind walls of solid granite. No, titanium. The Sentinel, he was sure, would have gone to his grave never speaking such words if he hadn't really meant them. He was that kind of man. 

"If I weren't in love with you before, babe, you better believe I'm in love with you now," he said softly, smiling. The two men shared a long, passionate kiss. 

Captain Simon Banks couldn't help but feel as though he were committing an act of sacrilege when he coughed, discreetly, reminding the pair of his presence. They broke apart but stayed within intimate range of each other, holding hands and exchanging light caresses. 

"Thank you. Now that I have your undivided attention, might I ask what we are going to do about this? Blair, are you willing to press charges against Naomi when we find her?" _You should. Parents are supposed to keep their kids safe from the monsters, not become them. Doesn't matter how old the kid is or whether or not they still live with you. I'd rip my own guts out before I'd even dream of harming Daryl._

"Will she -- will I have to go court?" Despite her wrongdoing Blair couldn't bear to think of the free spirited Naomi behind bars. "Like I told Jim already: she needs help, not a jail sentence." 

"And she'll get it. But you'll have to testify. So will Jim -- but unless you want to be honeymooning at Conover, I recommend leaving out the part about the talking panther." 

* * *

A relaxed Mulder lay contemplating his lover. Alex was up to something, he just knew it. Those expressive green eyes fairly danced with mischief. "Tell me," he said. 

Alex grinned. "I'm gonna do it." 

"Huh?" 

"Take the contract on this guy." 

Fox bolted upright. "Are you freakin' nuts? You're an FBI agent, not a hitman. And we're on a case ... or have you forgotten? Besides, you said -- " Alex held up a hand, cutting him off in mid rant. 

"Look, can you think of a better way to find out who wants to see him in a body bag so bad they're willing to pay a hundred grand?" Fox shook his head. Alex's grin turned into a smirk. "Right. And when the word spreads that Alex Arntzen's coming out of retirement in the Bahamas to make the hit, it'll scare every other trigger off. Which will keep our friend Enquiri here," he gestured at the photograph, " a whole lot healthier while we're looking for whoever it is that's set him up. Believe me, lover mine, I intend to teach that bastard a lesson: it is _not_ open season on Sentinels." 

FBI agent Fox Mulder winced at his partner's declaration of intent to commit felonious assault and various other acts of mayhem on whomever the guilty party might be. However, Fox Mulder the Guide could not agree more. Sentinels -- like his -- were rare and precious creatures, necessary to the survival of the whole human species. This he and Alex had been told in no uncertain terms by both the Navajo and the Rebel Aliens -- whose war with the Colonizers would have been over for centuries had they been blessed with such guardians of their own. Worlds that had them prospered, worlds that didn't became easy prey. Whatever the consequences, whatever the cost to his career -- to both their careers -- he would go along with whatever Alex deemed necessary to protect their own. 

* * *

"Senor Sanchez, you have a telephone call," Eduardo Da Silva, major-domo of the estate informed his boss. "A woman." He suppressed the urge to add _but of course_ ; Enrico, or "Ricky" as Sanchez liked to be called since emigrating with his uncles after the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion, was a notorious womanizer. Only one female had ever held his interest for more than a few weeks but that had been several years ago now. Eduardo doubted very much she would ever return; she and the master were both too independent -- no, too headstrong to have other than a casual relationship whenever they happened to get together. "She would not give a name, only said it is an urgent matter of business." 

Sanchez frowned. He hadn't had any "urgent business" to discuss with mysterious females who called him up while in the middle of entertaining guests. "Tell her ..." He remembered. The delectable Naomi. Little witch! She had stolen his heart and then run off so that now he must be content with the charms of his mistresses instead. "I will tell her myself, Eduardo. Now that I recall, we _do_ have some important business to discuss." 

"Si, senor." Barely able to hide a knowing smirk, the manservant spun on his heels and left, closing the ornate double doors so that his master would enjoy a private conversation and not be bothered by the "guests" he'd been entertaining all evening. 

* * *

Her heart was pounding madly and her hands were shaking so much she nearly dropped the receiver of the payphone, but Naomi Sandburg was not afraid. Excited, yes. Tense, yes. Frightened? Hardly. She knew dear Enrico all too well -- she'd been this close to becoming Senora Sanchez when last they were together, and if it hadn't been for her Venus turning suddenly retrograde while Mercury was ascending ... and he had been so understanding when she'd gently informed him this was not their time, she had to detach with love else it would totally ruin their karma in the next life. Hardly surprising that -- his great aunt, Augustina Maria, had the gift herself, so he'd said, and he'd learned at an early age to recognize it in others. If it were fated, another time for them would come. 

Oh, but so much had happened in her life since their parting! She had gone to Tibet and India and all the holy shrines -- some of which few outsiders had ever seen -- and received so much enlightenment. And in a village in Outer Mongolia, so remote it wasn't even on the map, she'd taken her first eager steps along the shaman's path. 

Shaman. Blair was a shaman now. He'd been initiated by that old Chopek Incacha, marked with his blood and made heir to his power. That was how he'd put it in the last letter she'd had from him before setting off on her own vision quest: the one that had led her to understand his destiny was to belong to her _in every way a man could belong to a woman_. No taboos for them, the union of two such powerful souls was above mere mortal sanctions like the ones against incest. Or adultery, now that Blair was joined to another. He was hers, damnit, _hers_. That freak cop with the hyped-up senses who fancied himself some kind of ancient tribal Guardian -- a Sentinel, Blair called him in that dissertation he'd written, the one he'd been too shy to publish so she'd done it for him -- would not take what belonged to Naomi Sandburg. Not while there was breath or power left in her to stop him. 

Pig or not, she mused as she waited, James Joseph Ellison was a handsome and virile man. She'd even thought of a dalliance with him herself, until she met Simon Banks. Now _there_ was a stud! Too bad he'd been involved with someone else at the time. Seriously involved, if she remembered correctly. 

"Querida Rojita! How good to hear your voice." Sanchez's husky tones still thrilled her, even over a wire halfway across the city. "But I am disappointed, Eduardo tells me it is only business that you wish to discuss. I had so hoped it would be pleasure instead. I remember we had so much pleasure, you and I." 

"And we will again, you darling, darling man," Naomi lightly promised. _In some other reincarnation, five or six hundred years from now, maybe._ "But you _did_ promise to help me with my little difficulty." 

"Ah yes, the jaguar god statue you wished to be rid of. You will be delighted to know I am in touch with a potential buyer." As far as the public was concerned, Sanchez was merely another Hispanic art dealer. A wealthy one, it was true. He'd taken over the family gallery when his uncle Arturo had retired to Palm Beach with a wife young enough to be his granddaughter. His shrewd business skills combined with a genuine aesthetic sense turned a pretty profit over the years. This in addition to his other, illicit sources of income. 

"So soon?" Naomi understood the necessity of discretion. Enrico was a man of principle, devoted in spite of his riches to the cause of justice. The cause of the people, not the status quo of the establishment. A man like that was bound to attract the attention of the fascist pig authorities. No doubt they were listening in even now. "I really didn't think you would. I mean, it's just a silly old thing cluttering up my space. Not at all very good. My son thinks it's interesting -- he's an anthropologist and thinks everything primitive is interesting -- but I find it just plain ugly. Absolutely full of bad vibes, though it's _supposed_ to be a Peruvian fertility idol." 

Sanchez decoded. The boy -- Blair? -- had fallen in love or lust with this man, decidedly against his mother's wishes. Neither of them would be dissuaded from their immoral passion, hence the need to employ drastic measures. Were it his son he would have killed them both and so ended the disgrace. But La Rojita Naomi always did have a tender heart, especially when it came to her lovechild. 

"Indeed. Then I understand why you no longer tolerate its presence. It disturbs the inner harmony, does it not?" 

She laughed. "You have _no_ idea. A pause. "I do hope that whoever your buyer is, he or she is serious." _You said this Arntzen guy was the best in the business. He'd better be, for a hundred thousand dollars._

"Oh I assure you that he is, querida. I examined his credentials in detail. Most impressive. A former curator of the Moscow State Museum, no less. He has great taste for such ... oddities as the one you possess. And his personal collection is the envy of the trade. I only wish I could convince him to do more business with me." 

That was certainly the truth. With the notorious Alex Arntzen in his stable of hired guns, clients from all over would be flocking to his door. Business was good but it could always be better. Plus, it would be an extra insurance policy -- a prosperous entrepreneur such as himself tended to attract many rivals. 

"Then in that case I'm certain we'll both be satisfied," she said. "I assume he'll want to look the piece over in person; those catalogs never show enough detail, in my opinion." More laughter. "But then again, I'm not the art expert." 

"Oh but you have excellent taste. And I am certain your ... Peruvian fertility idol? ... will suit my buyer perfectly." A mild chuckle as he added. "Even if it _does_ give off, as you say, bad vibes." 

"Wonderful. When can you make the arrangements?" _When is your man going to do his job?_

"Tomorrow -- no, the day after would be better, I have clients flying in from Brazil in the morning and alas, meetings all afternoon." _Two days. It's all set. Take it or leave it, sweetheart._

She took it. They made a little small talk like old friends normally would after a long absence, then she hung up. _Enjoy him while you can, "Sentinel". All too soon you'll be busy feeding the worms and my sweet baby Blair will be back where he belongs. With me! Then we'll see who's the real Blessed Protector._

She was so caught up in her vengeful fantasies that she never noticed a dark figure detach itself from the shadows to follow her. But even if she had been paying attention -- if _anyone_ had been paying attention -- the man would not have been recognized. 

Even when he'd been alive, very few people in the Great City knew the painted face of Incacha, blood brother to Enquiri. 

* * *

**SEVERAL HOURS LATER:**

Tucked safely into Jim Ellison's side, Blair slept like an angel. A somewhat debauched angel, the Sentinel had to admit, looking fondly at the younger man. 

They had spent the last of their weekend off watching TV -- Jim had to admit the Discovery Channel was a lot more fun when you had a Blair on the couch to cuddle. Dinner was Chinese takeout, most of it finger food ... which meant much licking off of various sauces. Also more fun when you had a Blair. A marathon make out session -- absolutely _necessary_ when you had a Blair -- followed by a shower (together, to save hot water, hee-hee!) and then they went upstairs. Jim, being Jim and very hot-blooded (very, _very_ hot-blooded!) slept naked. Blair also wore only his skin to bed, something he'd only taken up doing since Jim's ghost cat had started keeping him company -- and therefore very warm at night. Jim was extremely grateful to said spirit critter; it would have been very frustrating to have to peel through about fourteen layers of flannel before he could have his fill of all that yummy, fuzzy Blairskin. No, it would have driven him absolutely nuts. 

A naked, willing Blair was a feast for the senses, and Jim happily partook. Touch, taste and scent merged to create a totally new sense. This in turn piggy-backed onto sight and sound -- a horny, squirmy Guide made such delicious and delightful little noises while being slowly nibbled on from head to toe (and vice-versa, mustn't forget that!) The result was what Ellison promptly christened his Blairsense. He opened it full throttle, imprinting his mate. _Look ma, no zoneouts!_ he found himself wanting to yell. He didn't of course, that would've meant taking his mouth off Blair's beautiful hard-on. Which would have constituted an act of insanity ... not to mention being cruel and unusual punishment. 

Blair came first, Jim swallowing every drop of the salty-sweet nectar. They kissed until they were both out of breath, sharing the taste of each other. "Mmm, that was wonderful," the younger man purred. "Love you, Jim." 

"And I love you, Sprite. Think you can take care of this for me?" His still full cock drilled into Blair's hip, reddish purple now and leaking steadily with need. Blair, copying Jim's first touch, ran a finger lightly along its length. He hefted his lover's balls, fondling and delicately squeezing each one. It seemed so strange to be handling genitals other than his own, yet at the same time it felt so very right to be touching Jim's this way. He thought a moment then lowered his head to the Sentinel's groin. 

"Whoa!" Jim yelped, feeling a hot tongue lapping at the head of his dick. "Easy, Chief." 

Blair stopped. "Am I doing it wrong?" He was suddenly anxious; just because he enjoyed this it did not naturally follow that Jim would. 

"Not you, babe," his lover was quick to reassure him. "I'm ... too sensitive." 

Oh. No problem. "Where are your dials?" 

Jim thought. "Touch is about an eight, no, more like a nine. Everything else is up around six but still okay." 

Wow! It was a wonder he hadn't zoned, Sandburg the scientist thought. Blair didn't say that however, Sandburg the scientist had no place in their bed. "All right, then. Set touch all the way back to zero first, then slowly turn it up a notch at a time until you're comfortable." 

Jim did as his Guide instructed and in no time things were back under control. "Do that again," he moaned as Blair cautiously stroked him. 

Happily, Blair complied. He may not have had the experience Jim did but he was a fast learner and he _so_ wanted to make this good for his lover. "Tell me, Jim. Tell me how to pleasure you, my love. Tell me what you like." His mouth and hands were all over that Greek god body writhing under his. 

Jim's hands clenched at the sheets, twisting them in his passion. "L-lube," he gasped. "Nightstand. I want ..." 

He hesitated. Blair would never go for this. Carolyn hadn't when they were first married -- and neither one of them had been virgins at the time. Hell, it was all he could do to get her to try anything other than the basic missionary position whenever they made love. Either she didn't like sex or just didn't like it with him. He never was quite sure which -- and _she_ was the one who kept harping about his missing sense of romance. 

"Yes, baby?" Innocent Blair was hardening again and rubbing against him like an eager kitten. "What is it? Tell me what you need." 

_Tell him! He loves you, Jim Ellison. All of you, can't you see it in his eyes? He won't be disgusted like she was when you said it. Won't call you a filthy pervert and freeze you out of your own home before running for the nearest divorce court. You trust Blair every day with your life and your sanity, now trust him with this._

"I need ...slow down, sweetheart, you're gonna kill your old man yet ...that's better. I want your fingers, Chief. Inside me. Play with my ass while you're sucking me off." 

Blair was positive he hadn't heard that right. No, it was his fantasies talking, not Jim. Jim wouldn't ask anyone so utterly amateurish in the bedroom to do _that_ with him. Gods, what if he did something wrong or got carried away and hurt his partner instead? He knew how to do it to himself -- he'd been practicing in the shower ever since realizing he was in love with and lusting for his straight, totally _masculine_ roommate - and so he knew what felt good to him but that was no guarantee of getting it right with anyone else. Worse, with Jim's enhanced senses even a minor mishap could spell disaster. 

Again Jim seemed to be reading his mind. Incredible the way their connection had deepened since the two of them were sleeping together. "It's okay, lover, you won't hurt me. Although," he added, "it's been awhile." 

Fifteen years to be exact. Around the same time he'd figured out that while girls were pretty neat and fun to fool around with it was guys who really turned his crank. He'd done even more fooling around there -- although he'd had to be extremely careful in asking for dates back in those less enlightened times -- but hadn't really wanted to go all the way with anyone until the summer that he met David Anderson. David, who was killed in Peru just a few short weeks before his own fateful mission. He still mourned for the dashing young soldier who'd been his first real love. 

That was then. Now he was with his precious Blair, the soulmate he'd been longing for all of his life. "Do it," he ground out, the heat in his loins, in his whole body, almost unbearable. "Make me come for you, baby. Sweet Jesus, make me _come_!" 

And Blair had done exactly that. He found the new tube of Astroglide (purchased several months ago on a rare day when Jim dared hope he could win his heart's desire) and slicked his fingers. He used more of the stuff than was really needed -- but better that by far than not enough -- then carefully felt around his lover's entrance, making sure it was well lubed before inserting his forefinger. He slowly moved it around, stretching the little ring of muscle the way all the books said. And he must have been doing it right because it seemed he'd no sooner started than Jim was spreading his long legs as far apart as he could get them and begging Blair for more. 

Which he promptly got. With growing confidence Blair added a second finger into that tight, hot channel and began scissoring it around. More by luck than design he found his lover's "pleasure button" and lightly scraped across it. Jim let out a howl the whole neighborhood had to have heard. 

_"Yes!"_ the Sentinel screamed and if possible (he really didn't think that it was but he'd been wrong a time or two before) his cock got even harder as Blair worked his hungry hole. "So good, sweet angel," he groaned. "Take it in your mouth now, baby. Just the head. Use your tongue first, like a Popsicle....oohh! yeah, like that!" 

Blair suckled at him inexpertly but enthusiastically and -- even more important -- lovingly. His own erection now pressed up against his belly and he began fisting it. Not hard enough to come though, this was for Jim. 

A wet finger pressed gently into his anus and he almost lost it then and there. Jim's other hand left off twisting the linen into knots and joined his in pumping Blair's dick. The sensations were overwhelming: forward thrusts into the tunnel made by both their hands, then backward onto the finger -- no, fingers -- in his ass. Jim's careful thrusts into Blair's mouth, then back onto his hand. Without thinking they fell into an easy rhythm of sucking, stroking and finger fucking each other. 

Blair quickly learned that his solitary practice sessions had nothing on a lover with a heightened sense of touch. Three fingers were now filling him, so much it was almost -- but not quite -- painful. He forgot all about his slight discomfort when they rubbed at his prostate in time to the movements of his and Jim's hands jerking him off. They came practically together, himself shooting into their hands and over his stomach while Jim cut loose a wildcat scream and blasted straight down his throat. He couldn't swallow it all -- this _was_ his first attempt at cocksucking -- but he did get most of it. Scrumptious! No wonder Jim loved licking him clean after, the way that he was doing right now. He couldn't wait to try it again. It'd have to be in the morning, though, right now he was even too tired to yawn. He wriggled into the most comfortable position he could find -- and there really weren't any uncomfortable ones on teddybear Jim -- murmured another "love you" to him and closed his sexy blue eyes tightly in slumber. 

They'd been asleep for perhaps an hour -- Blair, as usual, more soundly than he -- when Jim felt it. A presence in the room, watching them. It felt/ smelled/tasted familiar and he opened his eyes. "Incacha?" he whispered into the dark stillness. 

No reply. Oh well, nothing unusual about that. Maybe he'd been dreaming about his old friend -- Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time. He'd more than half convinced himself this was the case and was spooning against his little one to sleep when he saw it. 

"It" was a huge jungle cat. Not his panther, not Ebony -- this one was all white with splotches of black. For one terrifying instant he thought it was the cheetah belonging to that murdering bitch, Alex Barnes. A sign that she'd somehow regained functionality and escaped her maximum security cell and was coming after them again. Coming back to steal his Blair, the Guide she'd coveted and killed. 

Coming to force Jim to mate with her, impregnate her as she'd tried to make him do that day on the beach when he'd tracked her down seeking revenge for her murderous attack. The idea, the memory of it even now still nauseated him. Never! He would never give himself or Blair over to that ... that _abomination_ who thought of herself as a Sentinel. He'd die first. 

But the beast did not attack. It drew closer and he saw now that it was a leopard. A snow leopard to be exact, with a huge fluffy tail and the brightest, greenest eyes he had ever seen. Jade, he mused. Perfection. He relaxed his guard; whomever this spirit animal guided was no enemy. At least, none of his. 

The big cat rumbled deep in his chest. A purr if ever he'd heard one. Jim found himself suddenly wishing he could purr back and then it seemed that he was. A moment later he felt a furry cheek nuzzle his and a rough wet tongue licking his face. He tingled all over from head to toe -- what the _fuck_ was happening here? 

The leopard -- Jade -- winked. Bent his great shaggy head down to Blair's and repeated the ... kiss. Jim's Guide reached out as if for his lover and mumbled something in his sleep. It sounded like another "I love you" but the Sentinel was too enthralled by their visitor to be sure. 

_"Yes. Love."_

The words were in Jim's head and they were coming from the cat. That was no big deal; his panther spirit, Ebony, had been pretty talkative as of late. _Wonder where he is? Probably hiding under the bed if he got a look at this big fellow. And I do mean big fellow._ There was absolutely no question that Jade -- and therefore his Sentinel -- was male. 

"Love?" Jim said aloud, not quite sure he liked the sound of that. If this other Sentinel wanted _his_ mate ... 

_"Love. Both."_

Both of them? He wanted _both_ of them? Now Jim knew he must be dreaming. What the hell was in that chicken lo mien anyway, besides chicken? It had Golden beat any day of the week. 

_"Both. Sentinels and Guides must be as one."_

Okay, he'd bite. "Why? Which Sentinels? Which Guides?" 

_"So that others may come to bless the tribe. Enquiri and Brings the Flame must join with Swift Wind and his mate."_

Hmm. Enquiri and Brings the Flame were himself and Blair. But ... 

"I don't know anybody called Swift Wind, I'm afraid. Is he your Sentinel?" 

_"Swift Wind is the shaman. You will meet him. Soon."_

Another Guide, then. He'd never known any except for Incacha and Blair. _Wonder what he's like?_

_"Love. He is love. You will know."_

That made sense. What else was the Guide to a Sentinel, if not love? "Uh-huh. But who's his mate? And if he _is_ another Sentinel, won't he be pissed off about that? We're pretty territorial, us genetic throwbacks." 

Jade's tail twitched impatiently. Try making a cub see common sense! 

_" All must be one. To bless the tribe. Otherwise, great evil."_

"So he probably won't be inclined to rip my head off just on principle." Jim shook his head. "Can't be anybody I know. The only other Sentinel I ever met was ..." 

_"You met no other Sentinel. That one was possessed. By an evil from the stars."_

Aliens, huh? Best explanation he'd heard yet for the likes of Alex Barnes. But that still didn't tell him ... Jade was talking in his mind again. 

_"He has no name, that Death may not call him. But the People of the Great Dry know him as the Sentinel of Earth."_

On that cryptic note and with devilment sparkling in his big green eyes, the snow leopard vanished. Jim pinched himself. Yeouch! That _hurt_! Guess he didn't just dream it after all. 

And if what he'd just been told was anything to go by -- and he was fairly certain that it was -- life in the Great City was about to get extremely interesting ... 

* * *

End Interloper 2 by MadByrd: madbyrd@hotmail.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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